


somewhere in neverland

by neverlasting_legend (splitdevotion)



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Song Lyrics, cursed!Wendy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-11
Updated: 2013-12-11
Packaged: 2018-01-04 08:19:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1078714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/splitdevotion/pseuds/neverlasting_legend
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter finds cursed!Wendy’s taste in music ironically amusing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	somewhere in neverland

**Author's Note:**

  * For [darlingneverland](https://archiveofourown.org/users/darlingneverland/gifts).



_Say goodbye to the halls and the classes_

She’s singing along to the song she’s religiously had on repeat for the last hour when he sidles up behind her.

_Say hello to a job and the taxes_

She startles, like always, and curses him, like always.

“ _Dear God, Peter_!  I could’ve stabbed you!”

His eyes are alight with mischief as he pulls an ear bud out of place, “I sincerely doubt that.”

Gwen brandishes the kitchen knife in her hand menacingly at him.  “Let’s see you smiling when I _purposely_ cut you the next time you decide to sneak up on me while I’m cooking.”

Peter laughs and it sends an all-too-familiar warmth pulsing from the pit of her stomach and into her limbs.  He really is the worst kind of influence on her but she can’t help but let him in when he comes by.

Mysterious Peter Young, nephew of Mr. Gold, and all around town trouble-maker. 

It’s a wonder that he’s never seen the inside of Sheriff Graham’s jail cell but then again, he _was_ related to the man who owned Storybrooke so she supposed that helped him out quite a bit.  It also didn’t hurt that he didn’t actually _stay_ in town, not for long at the very least.  More often than not, by the time he deigned to return to town, whatever mishap he had caused beforehand had been already long forgotten.

_The weekends with old friends spilling into nine to five routine._

Still, she has no business talking to him and she can’t imagine why he ever decided to speak with her but she’s glad he did.  He’s _exciting_ after all and Gwen wasn’t exactly overflowing with friends and party invites being the darling sister of Martin and Jacob Kensington – the town pastor and resident power attorney respectively.

“Relax,” he smirks and Gwen has an overpowering desire to wipe it off his face.  “No need to be so hostile.  After all, I came all this way just to see you.”

Immediately, Gwen feels contrite, cheeks flushing because he always does this.  Makes her feel special and unique and more than just the paradigm of goodness that Guinevere Kensington should be and it’s _dangerous_. 

Dangerous for a girl with Ivy League expectations heaped on her shoulders.

_Tell me how you feel over and done with_

_Like your life is a map with no compass to guide_

With just a few words, Peter turns her from sheep to something that may not be dangerous but has claws and _teeth_ none the less.  

Her brothers hate it.  Hates _him_.  Hates the change he brings out in her when he’s around but there’s not much that they can do about it.  They already harp on her about her lessons and monitor who she _associates_ with and she has _no_ true friends (because who really can call you a friend when you aren’t allowed out of the house to see them save for school and church). 

Taking Peter away is inconceivable.

 _“You may as well lock me in a cage!”_ she had said vehemently as they scolded her for letting a boy in the house and their faces had blanched so fast that she almost had felt guilty.

She won the argument that night and they didn’t bring it up again though it’s an unspoken agreement that Peter isn’t allowed in the house but they can’t dictate who she befriends any longer.

She doesn’t let him in the door but if Peter sneaks in – well, it’s not really her fault now is it? 

Besides, it’s a sort of rush, disobeying them like this, and there’s an unexplainable confidence she has in Peter’s ability to escape unnoticed that she believes is well founded.  After all, Jacob hasn’t come pounding on her bedroom door after hearing a rumor of a boy sneaking in and out of their household and Peter is always just simply _gone_ moments before her brothers’ keys jingle in the door.

She reasons that it’s not as if she allows it every day anyhow.  He isn’t in Storybrooke often enough for his visiting to become bothersome anyway and well – he’s Mr. Gold’s _nephew_.  It’s not like her brothers can file a complaint against the man _owns_ their house and employs half the town.

_At the bar drinkin’ way too much_

_As we sing along to “Forever Young”_

Gwen tells Peter to go wait in the living room and put on the television while she cooks but it’s more of a courtesy than an actual suggestion.  Peter doesn’t care to do anything other than waste time with her when he’s in town and though she won’t admit it, it makes her very pleased.

She finishes dropping the last of the vegetables into a pot and places the knife and cutting board into the sink.  Only after she’s brought the broth to a simmer and tastes that it’s decent, does she turn around to look at him.

Peter is leaning lazily against the countertop, unashamedly staring at her.  He looks entertained.  “You know you dance quite funny when you’re cooking.”

Peter likes to poke fun of her and if she was smarter and the better person than she wouldn’t take the bait – would just leave it alone because boys only teased to get a rise. 

Gwen’s smart and kind but Peter strips away all her desire to be the better person.

Her face burns a light red and with a glare, she pushes Peter hard out of her way.  He stumbles to the side a bit with a laugh and follows her to the living room.

_So here we go again_

_Wishin’ we could start again_

She grabs the novel she left open on the table and takes refuge on the biggest couch, curling daintily on one of its corner with enough room for Peter to lounge about like he usually does. 

She only gets through three pages before Peter asks, “New book?” as he takes up rest of the couch as if it were a throne and he, the king.

“Old,” she replies with an upturn of her lips. 

It’s not the truth – the book is actually one she’s been waiting for months to release but Peter has an unspoken respect for books despite her never seeing him crack one open and when he sees her with one he doesn’t think she’s read before, he often spirits away to wherever he does when he leaves her side. 

It’s been a long time since she’s seen him though and she figures that the words on the pages can wait.

She does make it look like she’s invested in the book, however.  Peter was relentless in his teasing when it was obvious that she missed him.

Predictably, he starts to mess with her.  Twirling her hair around his finger until it springs back into place.  Pushing her book down to mock the words over her shoulder.  Stealing an ear phone to listen to whatever song she’s playing. 

It’s a game they play.  She plays at being annoyed and he mocks being innocent.

_Wendy, run away with me_

_I know I sound crazy_

_Don’t you see what you do to me?_

She turns the page despite not actually remembering anything the last page had said but her eyes are no longer resolutely on the book. 

There’s a terribly amused smile on Peter’s lips and she wants to know why.

“What’s so funny?” she asks.

“Nothing,” he says airily but his eyes dance with something absolutely gleeful, like he’s just heard the world’s greatest joke.

She has a feeling that he’s laughing at her expense so she shoves him onto his back and straddles his waist. 

Getting Peter to admit anything was like trying to wrestle a crocodile but Gwen had the advantage of generally being able to a nuisance to the flighty boy without any consequences. 

She smirks and while hovering flexing fingers above his sides, Gwen commands, “Tell me!”

She knows it irks him something terrible to be _told_ to do anything but she does it anyway.  She _enjoys_ seeing his eyes flash darkly like he would like to do nothing more than to put her in her place because she knows he won’t.  Knows he can’t.  Knows _not yet_.

It’s playing with fire and it’s so incredibly _stupid_ of her, but something deep inside her feels oddly like satisfaction.  Like she should enjoy his obedience while she still could.  Should enjoy the safety of his hands on her skin while they were still protective and kind.

Peter looks like he’s contemplating murder for the briefest moment before he’s back to his confident, careless smile, “You wouldn’t dare.”

She raises an eyebrow – which admittedly, was not as impressive as when he did so – and smiles quite meanly.  “Try me.”

And then her hands were darting below his ribs and up his sides, dancing along his clothed flesh while Peter kicked under her.  She grins as he chokes on laughter he can’t contain and laughs when he yelps, “I’m going to kill you!” between breaths.  There is nothing funnier than watching as he thrashes under her, trying to use his strength to throw her off of him but failing because her thighs are like vices around his hips and he doesn’t want to hurt her by using his hands.

She stops then, with fingers now on his skin and his shirt hitched up his stomach and it’s nearly impossible for Gwen to keep her face straight and even harder for her to push down the blush that threatens to bloom on her cheeks.  There’s a light trail of hair that travels from his navel to somewhere past the waistband of his jeans that Gwen _resolutely_ does not stare at.

“See something you like?” Peter is breathless and his throat sounds hoarse from laughing so hard but there’s a tone in his voice that quickens something in her veins that she can’t quite define.

“My victory,” she says primly and begins her attack again in earnest with Peter flailing harder than before. 

Peter’s hands somehow find her wrists despite her wriggling and twisting out of their grasps and he holds both tight within the circle of his fingers, catching his breath and promising future retribution when she least expects it.  Gwen takes it in stride though, barely batting an eyelash as he promises, “I’m going to make you regret that.”

“You brought that on yourself,” she sniffs.  “Let it be known that I, Guinevere Kensington, am not afraid of _anything_.”

Something terrible plays at the corner of his mouth when she says that and he smiles but Gwen thinks it looks more like the flashing of teeth – sharp and wide and ready to devour her whole.  “Really now?”

Her throat is inexplicably dry for some reason but she’s able to grit out “ _Yes,_ ” before Peter abruptly flips them over until she’s the one with her back pinned to the couch.  Her heart is thrumming so loud within her chest she almost swears that even Peter can hear it with how close he is.  He leans forward and Peter’s eyes are so green and she thinks – she thinks that maybe he’s going to finally (impossibly) kiss her. 

He breathes.

“I think you’re lying,”

He’s gone from her then, leaving her flustered and as confused (disappointed) as he always does and she think that this boy – this flighty and capricious boy – is going to drive her _insane_ with how hot and cold he blows. 

It’s these moments far in between that she can understand her brothers – can understand why most of the town walks on eggshells around him because Peter is a wild card. 

No.

Peter is a storm and she can’t tell if she’s witnessing the calm before or if she’s already trapped in the eye and she should!  She should know this boy who torments adults and tempts children and teases her as much as he snaps at her.  Should know how to tell what he’s feeling and thinking and what he’s planning but she doesn’t and it frustrates her as much as it relieves her.

“It’s just – this song,” he finally admits as he lounges in the corner that she had commandeered earlier and Gwen hates him a little for looking so comfortable in her own while she’s the one feeling like she’s crawling out of her skin.

_Wendy we can get away_

_I promise if you’re with me, say the word and we’ll find a way_

She listens with half an ear before shrugging, “What about it?”

His smirk is infectious.  “ _Birdie_ ,” he croons and she gets it then – rolls her eyes before reaching over to punch his arm.  It lands and Peter laughs because it’s barely even a tap and he grabs the offending hand’s wrist again.

Peter was always so entertained – and sometimes oddly enough, offended – by anything Neverland related that sometimes Gwen sometimes thought he thought of himself as the forever boy himself and she - his Wendy Darling.

It was utterly ridiculous and Gwen would be irritated with him if she didn’t find it recklessly endearing.

“Dork,” she mutters exasperated but fond.

He grins and it’s quick and wide and it leaves Gwen feeling like her heart is trying to climb up and out of her throat.  “ _Gwen-bird_ ,” he says and then she’s back in his arms as if he hadn’t just jumped away from her and Gwen just settles against him because it’s what she _does_. 

Let’s Peter does what he wants even though his whims often leaves her spinning so hard sometimes, she feels as if she wants to cry or scream. 

She’s addicted to this unpredictable boy and though she knows she’ll never be as close as she wants, it’s closer than what other people can claim.

One day, Gwen will want that intimacy that only a boy can give and knows that Peter will never be the one to give it to her.

But that day is not here.

So Gwen draws lines up Peter’s arms and lets him play with her unwieldy curls and lets herself believe that its perfect – this quiet between them with the music softly playing in their ears.  Let’s herself believe that she could spend forever like this in Peter’s arms and not need anything else.

He sings, “ _I can be your lost boy, your last chance, your ‘everything better’ plan.”_

_Oh, somewhere in Neverland_

_Oh, somewhere in Neverland_

_(Somewhere in Neverland)_


End file.
